The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  The Godswar Saga Collection

  Includes Ascendancy, Awakening, and Reckoning.

  By Jennifer Vale

  Copyright © 2012 Jennifer Vale

  Map by KCM

  Edited by Cindy Kay

  Cover Design and layout by WAZ Design

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved.

  A Note on Appendices and Dramatis Personae

  The appendix at the end of this volume includes a cast of characters, a list of major terms and locations, and some additional background information. While none of this information is necessary for enjoying the book (I hope!), I have provided it as a reference for interested readers. Enjoy!

  Book One

  Ascendancy

  Prologue: The Siege of Fort Isen

  Fourth year of the Ash War, 2002 AG

  A bitter gust of mountain wind whipped across the battlements at Fort Isen, tussling the graying beard of General Ethan Moore. He watched impassively as the fort’s two hundred surviving soldiers scrambled to find defensible positions somewhere along the wall. He didn’t notice the bone-cold chill that had frozen his ears and prickled the skin beneath his mottled armor. He didn’t notice the horizon melt from a sullen gray to a malevolent red as the last rays of dusk pierced the dense overcast. He didn’t notice anything except the dagger of guilt thrusting at his stomach and the sheath of rage barely keeping it at bay.

  Everyone here was going to die, and it was entirely his fault.

  Ethan slammed his gauntlet onto the stone railing. It would have been one thing for him and the remaining soldiers to face death alone, but over a thousand refugees from the last Crell attack were sheltered deeper within the fortress, huddled together for warmth and praying to their long-dead gods that reinforcements would arrive in time. But they wouldn’t. The closest Solarian troops were, at best, an entire day away. By the time they arrived, Isen would be a smoking pile of rubble, and every soul within its walls would be dead or enslaved by the Imperium.

  Every soul, including his only son. Jason was standing guard over the refugees, an eighteen year-old boy whose father had dragged him into the bloodiest war in centuries. He was not a warrior at heart, but like the rest of their beleaguered people, he had quickly learned to fight like one. He had been forced to kill men and watch others die. Whatever innocence he might have had was lost long ago, just like his mother, his king, his country, and now, very soon, his life.

  “Sir,” a crisp, measured voice came from behind him. “The Crell riders seem to be regrouping. I recommend we consolidate our forces on the third level. From there we can—”

  “No,” Ethan said flatly, squinting out to the horizon. By now he could barely make out the dark shapes of the Crell’s first wave of flying cavalry. Their first pass, a mere scouting run, had blown a ten foot hole in the fortress’s lowest level. The defenders had scored one kill—one measly kill—in the few minutes the scouts had been in range. And even that one had been mostly luck.

  The man behind him stirred. Headstrong and eager, his expression a youthful mix of excitement and terror, Lieutenant Darius Iouna had been in charge of Isen’s defense for six months now—six months without the aid of a higher-ranking officer, let alone a battalion or two of reinforcements. Iouna was smart and capable, and if fortune hadn’t placed him here today, Ethan had no doubt the man would have gone on to enjoy a fine career in the Alliance military.

  But Iouna was here. And that meant his fate was sealed.

  “Sir, it will take a half dozen men to bring down one of those manticores,” Iouna said. “A handful of marksmen trying to guard a dozen different sections of the wall are just going to get picked off one group at a time.”

  “Those scouts are going to contact their main force,” Ethan explained. “You’ve seen the reports, Lieutenant. You know what we can expect when they come back.”

  Iouna’s cheek twitched. “With all due respect, sir, we’re not just going to surrender…”

  Ethan remained silent, eyeing the younger man wearily for a moment before swiveling back to the horizon. Right now their best chance was that the Crell wouldn’t bother expending any more resources ransacking such a pathetic garrison…but calling that hope “meager” was a drastic understatement.

  “I wish High Command had sent us some new weapons even if they couldn’t spare any soldiers,” Iouna whispered. “Most of these ballistae and crossbows are a century old at least, and none of them are enchanted.”

  Ethan grunted. “If we had even two or three of Areekan’s priests then we could at least organize our defenses. It’s…well, I feel like Lord Hamaska.”

  The lieutenant cocked an eyebrow. “Holding the castle gates for two days against a screaming horde of barbarians? He didn’t have to deal with flying enemies.”

  “No,” Ethan admitted, “but I was thinking of the entire style of warfare. Holding the line with flags, banners, and whatever you could shout to your men—even if we wanted to consolidate our troops, it would take half an hour just to send a runner to fetch all of them.”

  He shook his head in annoyance. What he was really feeling was his own impotence. For almost thirty years he had served as a loyal priest of the Galvian king, but now…well, now he was just an old man with tattered armor and dubious aim.

  Even the weakest Bound channeler could shield themselves and others in Aetheric magic, not to mention communicate instantly with one another across great distances. With as few as five Alliance priests, Ethan could evenly distribute his men along the battlements and coordinate a real defense. If they held their positions long enough, they might convince the Crell that Isen wasn’t worth the trouble.

  But he didn’t have five Alliance priests. He didn’t even have a single sniveling acolyte still struggling to mend a scraped knee. Instead, his best tactical option was to stand on the wall waving a flag around and hoping his soldiers knew what the hell it meant.

  “Do you think they’ll send dragons, sir?” Iouna asked.

  Ethan bit his lip. “Our scouts haven’t spotted any, for what little that’s worth. Still, they’re not exactly hard to miss, and none of the nearby villages have seen anything besides manticore riders.”

  Not that a pack of manticore wasn’t bad enough, of course. The flying, red-skinned monstrosities were large enough to carry one man, sometimes two, and they were quick and fast enough to avoid cumbersome siege weapons like Isen’s ballistae. If they happened to land on the walls, their fangs were capable of injecting venom strong enough to kill a human in about three heartbeats, but fortunately Crell commanders rarely ordered their precious riders into a direct melee.

  Unfortunately, the destructive magic of the Imperators riding them was far worse than teeth and toxin.

  “We could always get lucky and take out a few manticore with the ballistae,” Iouna whispered pensively, “but I doubt they’d even scratch the scales of a dragon.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Ethan replied, shaking his head. For the last ten years, even before this war had begun in earnest, the Crell had been breeding black-scaled dragons in hitherto unseen numbers. The creatures were slow and massive, not to mention far more willful than the near-mindless manticore, but with a proper harness they could haul as many as six riders into battle. So far, they had proven the difference in the war. Ethan just prayed the Crell weren’t going to bother wasting any of them today.

  Sighing softly, he closed his eyes and tried to push back the guilt and anger boiling inside him. Blaming himself wasn’t going to help anyone here, and neither was wallowing in self-pity. Regardless of his past failures, regardless of their meager
defenses here today, Iouna was right: surrendering would get them nothing. The Crell wouldn’t spare them from death or enslavement even if they tossed down their weapons right now. The least they could do was make a final stand.

  Out of old habit, he fingered the silver pendant around his neck. Elissa had given it to him almost fifteen years ago when he had been promoted to general. She had inscribed it with their son’s name as a reminder to him of what he ultimately fought to protect, and as usual it sharpened his mind on the task at hand. No matter what he might have lost over the last few years, he still had Jason…and many of the refugee families huddled inside Fort Isen right now had sons and daughters of their own. If there was any hope for his home of Galvia to rise from the ashes of this war, it would ultimately be up to their progeny to rebuild it.

  And it was his duty to make sure they got that chance.

  “We can’t win this fight,” Ethan said eventually, “and all we’ll do is waste precious resources and men by trying. We need to focus on keeping the refugees alive, and there’s only way we can do that.”

  Iouna looked at him quizzically for a moment before his brow furrowed in recognition. “Sir, the Isen Pass has been sealed for decades. There’s nothing in there besides an empty cavern.”

  “The exit at the far side of the mountain is sealed, yes, but we can still get the people in through the door on this side,” he explained. “General Tavorus told me to use it as a last resort if we had to wait for his men.”

  “We’ll be completely trapped,” Iouna pointed out. “Not to mention packed together so tightly the Crell could take us out all at once.”

  “I doubt their riders will risk landing just to follow us into a cave,” Ethan said. “But if they try, the narrow passages will neutralize their numbers. There’s also an emergency shaft designed to bury the entrance in case of an emergency.”

  “Leaving us trapped in the dark with no air.”

  “It’s a huge cavern. We should be able to survive for a few days at least.”

  Iouna seemed to mull over it as they both looked to the horizon. Dark blurs had appeared on the horizon again, which meant the second wave of riders was already on its way.

  “It’s a big risk, but I think you’re right,” the young man said. “What are your orders, General?”

  Ethan glanced over to the small squad of soldiers manning the ballista to his left. They’d started the battle with five emplacements, but the manticore had already destroyed one. If the Crell commander had any sense, he would dispatch the other four as quickly as possible. They might have been slow and awkward weapons of a forgotten age, but they were still the most important weapons he had left.

  “We have to hold them off while we get the refugees inside,” Ethan said. “Get two of your men and have them run messages to the lower walls as quickly as they can. I want a minimum crew at each ballista—no more than three. The others need to spread out and lay low. They should focus their shots on the beasts’ bellies when they bank or climb.”

  Iouna nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing, Lieutenant,” Ethan said. “I’ll lead the defenses here as best I can. I want you to head to the gate and find my son. The two of you need to get those refugees inside and safe. If our defenses fall, I want you to seal yourselves inside. I’ll leave it up to you to decide when.”

  The young man nodded gravely. “I understand, sir.”

  Ethan clapped him on the back. “Good. Now get moving. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Yes, sir.” He started to move off but abruptly paused. “Whatever happens, General, it’s been an honor serving with you.”

  With that, he was gone. Ethan wouldn’t have replied anyway. While his eyes were locked on the growing black dots on the horizon, his thoughts had yet again turned to his son. If Jason could somehow survive this war, then maybe, just maybe, Ethan hadn’t been a complete failure of a man after all. It was a selfish line of thought in a war that had already killed thousands, but right now he didn’t really care. As long as his son lived, Galvia still had a chance.

  Picking his crossbow off the stone wall, Ethan loaded the cartridge and waited for the onslaught to begin.

  ***

  He found her clutching a charred piece of wood amidst a pile of smoking ruin, her unblinking pale blue eyes a sharp contrast to her soot-covered blouse. Of the four smoldering bodies sharing Isen’s tallest tower with her, only one was still recognizable as human; the others had been seared to ash in the opening skirmish less than an hour before. It had only taken a single errant blast of Aetheric fire to end the lives of two families and shatter the future of this young girl, and as he looked down upon her tear-stained cheeks and quivering arms, Jason Moore had to struggle not to be sick.

  Clenching his teeth, he tossed aside the remains of the wooden door and stepped inside. An hour ago, the tower had been a luxurious chamber housing a pair of noble families displaced by the recent border skirmishes, but at this point almost none of the fancy decorations were even recognizable. Jason cautiously crept closer to the girl, hoping he wouldn’t scare her away. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and her soot-streaked blonde hair was plastered thinly across her face. She wasn’t even looking at him; she wasn’t really looking at anything, as far as he could tell. She was just trembling in place. He had no idea how she could have possibly survived the destruction, let alone without any visible injuries.

  “My name is Jason,” he whispered, wishing desperately that he knew what to say. “We need to get out of here before the Crell come back.”

  Again, she didn’t react. Her eyes remained fixed on the nothingness in front of her, and her left hand squeezed a piece of charred wood so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

  “Please, take my hand,” he said, leaning in closer. “I can keep you safe, but I need you to come with me now.”

  For a long moment she remained motionless, and Jason wondered if he might have to physically lean in and pick her up…but then finally she reached out and wrapped her free hand in his. He helped her stand and step clear of the rubble, and even though she still wasn’t looking at him, she seemed willing to follow. Hopefully that would be enough.

  “Jason!”

  The shout came from somewhere down the spiraling tower steps. Jason shuffled to the doorway, and mercifully the girl followed him without protest. Twenty feet below, Lieutenant Iouna was dashing up the steps. He paused when their eyes met.

  “Jason, there you are,” he breathed, stopping and leaning against the wall. His eyes widened when he saw the little girl, obviously amazed that anyone or anything had survived the explosion. “General Moore wants us to gather the refugees and start moving them towards the sealed mountain entrance. We’re going to bunker inside and bury ourselves in.”

  “It’s closed on the other side,” Jason replied, taking a few steps down and seeing if she would follow him. She did, step for step. “There’s no way out of there.”

  Iouna nodded. “I know, but your father thinks we can hold out in there long enough for reinforcements to come.”

  “All right,” Jason said with a resigned sigh. Retreat always left a bitter taste in his mouth, but after a year of fighting a losing war he was sadly starting to get used to it. “Let’s go.”

  Five minutes later, they reached the large open rooms they had converted into makeshift beds and bunks for the hundred Galvian refugees stashed inside. Only three other soldiers were positioned here, each even more poorly equipped than himself and Iouna. While Jason’s scaled Galvian armor had seen better days, his sword had at least been Aether-tempered for added sharpness and strength; these other soldiers were still carrying blades made of dull, rusted steel like peasant conscripts from the last age.

  Iouna barked out the relevant final commands to prepare the refugees for a swift exodus. Jason tried to help where he could, but he was also mindful of the little girl clinging closely to his side. None of the other refugees paid her any heed, and he could onl
y assume that none of them knew her…or else that they were scared away by her noble lineage.

  Most of the families had collected their belongings by the time the clamor of battle rang up from the forward battlements, and they were on their way out of the chamber towards the Isen Pass cavern when an ear-splitting roar shook the entire castle. Gritting his teeth so hard it hurt, Jason risked a peek outside to let his eyes confirm what his ears had already told him.

  Dragons. The Crell had sent dragons.

  “Incoming!” Iouna warned as a colossal black blur whooshed past overhead. Clutched in the creature’s enormous talons was an equally enormous crate, which it casually released just as it soared past their position. A resounding crunch echoed across Isen as the crate smashed onto the stone walkway and splintered into a hundred pieces.

  Normally, a fall from that height would have crushed the bones of anyone trapped inside, but the Crell Imperators had long since solved that little conundrum. With a bit of Aetheric reinforcement, the crates were able to dampen the impact of virtually any fall, leaving the troops inside unharmed and ready for battle. Just like now.

  “Groll!” Iouna shouted, unsheathing his sword and waving to the other three soldiers. Miraculously, they didn’t run off screaming in the opposite direction. Instead they stoically grabbed their crossbows and charged forward, and Jason spun around to face the little girl.

  “You need to go with the others,” he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She nodded absently, and he whirled about to retrieve his crossbow before she could reply. He wanted to make sure she was all right—he wanted to escort her all the way to the cavern himself—but he wasn’t about to let the others face the groll alone.

  Dashing out the doorway, he quickly appraised the situation. The stone walkway along the edge of the fortress was ten feet wide at most, and it stretched for another fifty feet before curving upwards along Isen’s side to other levels. It wasn’t a particularly large target when one considered how fast the dragon had just been flying, but the creature had dropped its payload with startling accuracy regardless. Now four hulking, axe-wielding groll were charging across the walkway screaming for human blood.